One Last Choice
by SiverWrites
Summary: 'They're old, both older than they ever expected to be, probably had any right to be. Supernatural aid helps, he supposes. They both know it's coming. The man even prepared his own funeral: date to be announced. "You are a man of maaany talents. Party planner you are not."' Major character death but by old age.


They're old, both older than they ever expected to be, probably had any right to be. Supernatural aid helps, he supposes.

They both know it's coming. The man even prepared his own funeral: date to be announced. "You are a man of maaany talents. Party planner you are not."

He knows. And he knows in some respects it will be welcome. His health has been deteriorating. Old injuries flaring up. The number of days he can barely move has grown, an unshakeable and painful tiredness that grates on him more than anything else.

Jowd knows this, but his heart still drops when he enters the kitchen to find Cabanela leaning heavily against the table, hands laid flat, fingers trembling against the tabletop and face drawn in pain.

Jowd rests a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Hey, do you need..?" Need what at this point?

Cabanela shakes his head then suddenly looks up and there's a light in his eyes. "Let's go oooutside. Beautiful day."

Jowd takes his arm and Cabanela shifts his weight from the table to him. Jowd inwardly sighs. It's a bad day he can tell from the tension and amount of weight he puts on him – nearly all of it. Together they slowly make their way through the house out to the backyard where the sun shines down, the breeze is warm and the scent of flowers is in the air. A perfect spring day.

Cabanela steps away from Jowd, the sunlight glittering off the whiteness of his hair. His face suddenly splits into a grin and Jowd swears the lines he'd long stopped noticing drop off his face. He clicks his heels, spins once and flings himself into the grass, sprawling out.

Jowd chuckles. The chuckle dies when Cabanela props himself up on his elbows. "Where's Sissel?"

Jowd's eyes narrow. "Why?"

"Alas. Our nation's top detective has truuuly rusted."

Cabanela drops down, fingers trailing through the grass. Jowd eases himself down to sit next to him.

"You can't be serious."

He's treated to a sharp stare. "Did you eeever really think I was going to leave you alooone, baby? That's askin' for trouble."

"Hardly alone," Jowd protests. And no he doesn't want to lose him, but this…

"Leave you to your poor grandchildren? What did they dooo to deserve that? Besiiides," he grins. "I can't miss my own party."

There's a meow and Sissel pads up to them, sits near but not quite near enough Jowd judges. It doesn't work. Cabanela languidly waves him over.

"Induuulge an old man."

"There's no going back," Jowd warns as Sissel closes the distance between them.

"Fade in time. There'll be long enough, or short enough. Either will do. You knooow I'll make the most of it. Not ready to shuffle off this world quiiite yet."

Sissel sits beside him and from their looks Jowd is aware of a conversation happening he's not privy to. He's often wondered if a person can live too long. If a person can live too long they can exist too long. Hadn't they learned this so very long ago?

 _But this is by choice_. _His choice._

A self-satisfied smirk crosses Cabanela's face and Jowd knows he's lost. He lost from the moment the idea occurred to him and who knows how long this was brewing? If there was one battle he could never win it was getting Cabanela to change his mind.

An apologetic tendril of thought reaches him from Sissel.

" _It's what he wants."_

Jowd knows. Of course he knows and he realizes while the idea bothers him – not as much as he thinks it should – it's that this conversation is happening now, today. He spent so much time bracing himself for this day. Now that it's here he finds he's not so ready at all.

Cabanela's smirk softens into a smile and he catches Jowd's hand. For a moment Jowd is taken aback. In his bout of energy – and stubbornness that never left – Jowd found himself expecting the old strong grip, but it's thin and weakened fingers entwining his and he has grown so thin. Frail, if Jowd could ever bring himself to apply the word to him. A mind as sharp and fierce as ever trapped in a failing body. Jowd could start to see the appeal. A last hurrah. A final dance.

"Stop worrying. I've taken care of eeeverything."

"Are you sure about this?"

A dramatic sigh, "Baby, when have I ever not been sure?"

"I stand corrected."

"Admission of defeat. Getting soft."

"Can't kick a man while he's down."

Cabanela's laughter rings clearly over the yard joined by Jowd's low chuckling.

Their laughter slowly dies away and Cabanela sinks deeper into the grass. He nods at Jowd, eyes closing, laughter still dancing around his lips.

This isn't good bye. Not really.


End file.
